^ Bryan Ferry's Slave To Love, shot on location in Paris in the mid 80s. Like fine vintage wine, the writing of Colette, or the visions of artist Odilon Redon, the romantic art direction and sepia toned dreamlike photography are eternal and will always inspire me to dream.
Paris...Chicago...Petaluma...South Pasadena. I just read an old blog post from my good friend N., while by coincidence listening to a song from Carla Bruni (or is it now Madame Sarkozy?) , and thinking about the fact that my niece K. has yet to experience Paris (preferably on her own, one must experience that world for the very first time on one's own, it's absolutely necessary). What a confluence!
Paris must be experienced for the very first time alone. You must be alone (even if already partnered). That is when everything opens up and invitations cascade at your feet and you can pick and choose, or let fate choose for you. Once in the city, an itinerary is about as useful as a prison cage with a view. Throw it out and get lost - literally. Only then will the city begin its slow and gradual seduction and you have no choice but to float along. "Let your pleasure be your guide", as Jeanne Moreau tells Anne Parillaud in the French action thriller La Femme Nikita.
K., and for that matter another good friend of mine, J., have never been to Paris. They have only the experiences of others to live through vicariously until they themselves can go. Paris, I tell them, is an entirely different state of mind if you allow it. When you're there it is not a holiday, it's not a sightseeing tour (not the way N. and I experienced it). Rather, it is a tonic, a seduction, a lover's hot embrace, a swig of whiskey, an aphrodisiac, a sensuous wafting.
And then you wake up back home, and the hangover is magnificent.
Paris...Chicago...Petaluma...South Pasadena. I just read an old blog post from my good friend N., while by coincidence listening to a song from Carla Bruni (or is it now Madame Sarkozy?) , and thinking about the fact that my niece K. has yet to experience Paris (preferably on her own, one must experience that world for the very first time on one's own, it's absolutely necessary). What a confluence!
N. and I share similar passions over Paris. She is of French descent but of Midwestern upbringing, and I having been there a few times years back for work and pleasure. N., much to my jealousy, has actually lived in Paris for a while, something I plan to do in the future, preferably making art, writing, blogging, and of course, experiencing. I think N.'s blog post sums it up well enough that I needn't do so myself, she speaks for me just as much.So I leave my suburban homestead each morning, walk a few metres and catch a bus, where a nice portugese man greets me every morning. I ride to the local SNCF station, sit on the train for 20 minutes, surrounded by a melange of strange African languages that I have never heard before, wake up to the Eiffel Tower on the left and arrive in the center of the city. I have no sense of direction in the circular flow of things in Europe...I am accustomed to the grid-like structures of modern-day American cities, thus I have purchased a compass and have honed my intuitive skills even further. I am Rudolphe the red nosed reindeer. Guess I look like I know what I'm doing because people ask me for directions all the time. If only they knew...
I have befriended a few fun pals from all over the place. A gal from Pasadena, a boy from Trinidad, and Spaniard, a Texan, an Algerian and a Parisian. Imagine that. My first day here I met a 65 year old Parisian man who offered to buy me an apartment in Paris so I could stay here. Hmmmmmm. WEIRD! Then there are the Japanese business men on the CHamps-Elysees who want to give me 1000 euros cash to go buy things at Louis Vuitton to help them smuggle back to their boutiques. Then there are the men in Montmartre who grab your face and want to paint you. I haven't come up with a good comeback yet but I'm working on it. They're really irritating. It's all just too weird. Everything. But oddly enough, why do I feel more at home wandering these streets then I do in the USA?- from N.'s blog J'y pense et puis j'oublie...
Paris must be experienced for the very first time alone. You must be alone (even if already partnered). That is when everything opens up and invitations cascade at your feet and you can pick and choose, or let fate choose for you. Once in the city, an itinerary is about as useful as a prison cage with a view. Throw it out and get lost - literally. Only then will the city begin its slow and gradual seduction and you have no choice but to float along. "Let your pleasure be your guide", as Jeanne Moreau tells Anne Parillaud in the French action thriller La Femme Nikita.
^ Carla Bruni - Those Dancing Days Are Gone
K., and for that matter another good friend of mine, J., have never been to Paris. They have only the experiences of others to live through vicariously until they themselves can go. Paris, I tell them, is an entirely different state of mind if you allow it. When you're there it is not a holiday, it's not a sightseeing tour (not the way N. and I experienced it). Rather, it is a tonic, a seduction, a lover's hot embrace, a swig of whiskey, an aphrodisiac, a sensuous wafting.
And then you wake up back home, and the hangover is magnificent.
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